BETWEEN FOREST AND SEA, A DREAM CALLED WHANGĀREI

On our way to a well-deserved holiday in Ōpua, heading north through the green spine of Te Ika-a-Māui, we stopped in Whangārei — not by chance, but out of a quiet intention — to visit a place whispered about in guidebooks and spoken of with reverence: the Hundertwasser Art Centre. What we discovered was not merely a building, but a sense of wonder — a dream embodied in colour and curve, where no wall yields to symmetry, and architecture itself seems to breathe. It is not a visit to a museum, but a step into the pages of an unwritten story.

In that moment, something stirred — not from Aotearoa, the land where I now live, but from deep within the chest of memory. The colours, the joy, the mosaic gleam of ceramics clinging to the walls like sea spray in sunlight — they carried me back to another place, another time. Porto, Portugal (a travel piece soon to be published on this blog). One of my first adventures beyond the borders of my homeland. There too, the walls spoke. Not with Hundertwasser’s rebellious voice, but with the ancestral murmur of the azulejos — those delicate blue-and-white tiles that tell stories in silence.

Azulejos, the glazed blue-and-white ceramic tiles, give Porto’s Capela das Almas a truly distinctive appearance.

And yet, here in Whangārei, the language was different. Wilder. More earthy. Befitting the volcanic nature of Aotearoa. And Māori art met us at the threshold — tall and deeply rooted in the name of the gallery itself: Wairau — like a river flowing through history and forward, toward voice. This is more than architecture. It is a conversation between cultures, a dialogue between Hundertwasser’s radical European vision and the strength, grace, and power of Māori expression. What an unexpected gift, to stumble upon this kaleidoscope of meaning on our way to rest. It reminded us that sometimes the most unforeseen detours become the true destinations.

In the port city, where green hills gently bow toward the sea, rises a structure unlike any other — a place where lines rebel, colours breathe, and the earth itself seems to sigh with joy. It is a kaleidoscopic beacon of creativity, born from the imagination of the visionary Austrian artist and architect Friedensreich Hundertwasser. For thirty years, Hundertwasser lived near Kawakawa, weaving his life into the New Zealand landscape, planting trees, designing toilets that became altars to nature, and dreaming of buildings that honour the land rather than conquer it. In 1993, he sketched the vision for an art centre — organic, alive, uncompromising, a space where Māori and European voices might meet not in hierarchy, but in harmony.

How It All Began

It all began back in 1993, when Hundertwasser offered his design to the city of Whangārei. He carefully chose a specific site: a building owned by the Northland Regional Council. But, as often happens with visionary ideas, his proposal came too soon. The Council refused to sell the building. The dream fell into slumber. Disappointed, perhaps, but not defeated, Hundertwasser turned his creativity toward the small town of Kawakawa, where he left behind an unusual and splendid gift: public toilets. Not just any toilets, but ones adorned with coloured glass and mosaic, which became a celebrated attraction — a playful altar to art and ecology. And, perhaps without fully realising it, he gave Kawakawa a new life.

The Hundertwasser toilets in Kawakawa have been recognised as among the most significant and artistic buildings in New Zealand.

The years passed. Hundertwasser died. And yet, in Whangārei, the spark did not fade. In 2012, the City Council revived the project. This time, the stars aligned: a contract was signed with the Hundertwasser Non-Profit Foundation, which agreed to the building's construction — but only on the land originally chosen by the artist. What followed was a period of controversy, debate, and number-crunching. The total cost to the council: 8 million dollars, including seismic strengthening. Some scoffed. Others hoped. The ‘Yes Whangārei’ movement showed that the financial impact on households would be minimal — just $6.70 per year, for ten years. A Deloitte study estimated over 220,000 visitors annually and a regional economic benefit of 3.5 million dollars.

Then came the decisive moment: a public referendum in 2015. And the people said yes. Yes to beauty. Yes to the dream. Yes to a building that would place their city not only on the map but also in the imagination. On 20 February 2022, the dream opened its doors to the world. The centre’s inauguration was marked by the exhibition Puhi Ariki, curated by Nigel Borell — a powerful statement of Māori identity, strength, and cosmology. Inside, the Wairau Māori Art Gallery established itself as the first gallery in Aotearoa dedicated exclusively to contemporary Māori art.

The centre is more than walls and domes. At the top floor lies a treasure — 80 original works by Hundertwasser, vibrating in spirals of colour and hope. On the ground floor, the Wairau Gallery unfolds like a cloak of respect and collective voice. On the roof, a garden of rare native species takes root in the sky. Inside, a theatre, a café, and an educational centre — all pulsating with life. This building is a living organism. It hums. It tells stories. It teaches. And it seems to whisper to us all: “Protect the land. Create beauty. Think freely.”

Perhaps we came here seeking a pause, a quiet day on our journey north. But what we found in Whangārei was more than beauty — it was proof that a dream can lie dormant beneath the earth for decades and still take root, if people choose to believe. In a world too often defined by demolition, here something alive, brave, and unexpected was built. And as we drove on toward Ōpua, with the children asleep in the car and the sun dipping behind the hills, I knew we hadn’t just visited a place — we had witnessed a dream in bloom.